


Wagon Wheels and Captain America's Feels

by Sapphic_Futurist



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Food and Falling in Love, Getting Together, M/M, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24776641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphic_Futurist/pseuds/Sapphic_Futurist
Summary: Clint burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, what? Did you just say wagon wheels? How old are you, man?”--In which Steve just wants to make Tony an Italian dinner.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 170





	Wagon Wheels and Captain America's Feels

**Author's Note:**

> This is so stupid but I had a good time writing it anyways. 
> 
> From a super brief discussion on the POtS discord where someone suggested Steve would have strong thoughts about bowtie pasta, and I decided Tony would love wagon wheels. This is perhaps the fluffiest garbage I have ever produced. 
> 
> A big thanks to resurrectedhippo for the thoughtful beta. 
> 
> This author takes feedback willingly, but with a delicate heart. Enjoy.

In hindsight, Steve probably wouldn’t be in this mess if he hadn’t made so many assumptions. 

Waking up in the future – the present – came with a whirlwind of new things to see and learn, and desperately try and understand. Some mornings, it had still made his head spin. 

Except then they’d defeated an invading alien race and Steve decided that now he’d definitely seen it all. Or at least he hoped, because he was a surprisingly sore loser and losing ten bucks to Fury was more than enough already.

The best part of the future was the food. Had there been this many flavours and textures in the 40s? As he strolled up and down the grocery aisles Steve was amazed by the variety of ingredients, coming together from all different corners of the world.

What he couldn’t find himself, JARVIS was only too willing to order for him. 

It was an unexpected surprise when Steve learned the team had gotten a real kick out of his new-found obsession with food. Soon it became a habit, one of the other Avengers appearing out of nowhere with a new (and mostly tasty) treat, watching with bated breath to enjoy his reactions. 

Bruce had brought him a durian, which had stunk up the entire Tower and led to the strict implementation of a no-smelly-foods-in-the-house rule. When Clint brought him a wedge of blue cheese later that week, they made him try it on the roof. Smell wise, it had hardly compared by half. 

Natasha genuinely seemed to want him to enjoy what she brought, depositing slivers of baklava and delicate little kartoshka. Last week she had produced a dense little cake he couldn’t remember the name of – something that tasted like bananas and hailed from Spain. 

Tony only contributed something once.

Steve plastered a grin on his face as he’d slurped down something cold, disgusting, and slippery; not unlike he’d have expected a massive booger to taste like. When Tony told him it was an aphrodisiac, taking in Steve’s blank look and requesting for JARVIS to provide a definition, the rest of the team cackled and rolled their eyes. 

It had been a good way to bond, in the beginning. 

Steve was all too happy to be the team guinea pig if it meant the majority of the people he found in the future would hang around just a little longer. Through fermented fish and eye-wateringly hot peppers, they found each other in food and comradery. 

With a mixture of experimentation and a battle of who could produce the grosser foods, Steve felt like he was finally finding his way out of the darkness; stepping into a present that brought with it a sense of friendship and belonging he hadn’t anticipated. 

Some days, he forgot about the loneliness entirely. 

When the team eventually stopped coming up with foods for him, Steve decided to take up cooking. It kept everyone hanging around long enough and transformed into team board game nights, or a rousing game of cards. 

The dining room table became a battleground, plates shoved off to the side when bellies were full and bets were thrown into the middle of the table. 

“That was fantastic.” Bruce proclaimed one night, sliding a plate practically licked clean towards the centre of the table. 

The curry Steve had prepared for dinner was mostly gone, the massive bowl empty in the centre of the table. It was framed with a basket of samosas he had folded himself and another of delicate naan. He’d only burnt the first two, and Thor had devoured them eagerly, proclaiming their charred exteriors a delicacy. 

“I’m going to get fat if we keep eating like this.” Tony groaned, immediately throwing up a warning hand when Clint smirked. “Don’t go there, asshole.”

“Are you taking requests?” Natasha inquired, “because I have a fantastic recipe for cabbage rolls, I’ve never been able to get right.” 

“What about grilling up some steaks one night?” Clint put in.

“We could do steaks for the Fourth of July this year?” Tony suggested.

“What is this Fourth of July?” Thor boomed and Clint winced, dialing down his hearing aids.

“Buddy, we talked about this.”

“Apologies, Clinton, but it brings me great excitement to bear witness to another Midgard festival! Tell me, what is this Fourth of July?” Thor asked, not markedly quieter. 

“It’s Cap’s birthday.” Tony said immediately before the rest could beat him to it. “The entire country shuts down and everyone gets out their flags and worships Cap like a God.”

Steve scowled at him.

“And on which day will they worship me as the God that I am?” Thor demanded. “I will mark it promptly on the monthly moon chart.” 

“Calendar.” Bruce corrected, but his lips are twitching and he’s enjoying it as much as any of them.

“I think hamburgers and hotdogs are more appropriate for the Fourth of July, wouldn’t you say?” Natasha suggested, helping herself to another samosa and tearing it delicately between thin fingers.

“Don’t do this to me.” Clint whispered fiercely. 

Steve sighed knowing a losing battle when he saw one. “I’ll just make it all.” 

“He said it! No take-backs! JARVIS make a note!” Tony exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. 

“And which folder would you like this note stored in, Sir?” JARVIS asked drolly. “Shall I file it under Incessant Ramblings or Capsicle’s Birthday Surprise?”

“I resent that, JARVIS, you two-bit doorbell.” Tony warned, but the smile gave away his affection. “Throw it in Capsicle’s Birthday Surprise.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“You’re planning a party?” Steve asked, pushing back from the table and starting to clear away the plates. This newfound friendship with Tony was a relationship he relished most of all. 

When the man wasn’t driving him up the wall, he was driving him half-wild with flirty comments that seemed to increase daily. They seemed to get worse around the time Steve noticed Tony’s eyes flickering over his ass when he walked by and the way he seemed to find more and more reasons to reach out and touch him these days. 

At first Steve passed it off as a future thing – men were just more comfortable with their affections in this time. Except then he realized that not only did Clint or Bruce or even Coulson not share his proclivity for physical touch, Tony didn’t seem to touch anyone else half as much as he touched Steve.

“A birthday surprise,” Tony corrected, “don’t get a big head. Surprise can go either way.” 

“A lot of things could go either way, with you.” Natasha hums which startled a laugh out of the billionaire. He stretched out, pinned her with a leer, and waggled his eyebrows.

“So, steaks then? This Saturday?” Clint demanded. 

“The fourth isn’t for another three weeks?” Bruce said with a frown.

Clint shrugged. “So? We can have steaks on Saturday and then Steve can make them again three weeks from now. Stark can afford it.”

Steve chose not to comment on how he’d effectively been voluntold he’d be cooking his own birthday dinner. 

“Oh, can Stark afford it? Let’s talk about how Stark can afford it when Stark is busy paying for your room and board, the fancy new gadgets you’re so fond of destroying, and everything else your feathered ass desires.” Tony shot back without heat. 

“Never thought I’d land myself a sugar daddy.” Clint teased, leaning back in his chair with arms crossed behind his head as the room dissolved into laughter. 

And just like that, Steve started cooking for the team at least four or five times a week. 

He grilled up steaks the size of Clint’s face, paired with creamy Caesar salad and a potato salad recipe his Ma used to make before the war set in. Things became a bit more complex with Natasha’s cabbage rolls, which came out perfectly, stinking up the Tower with the smell of boiled cabbage.

It just so happened to be the night Tony came stumbling in drunk, having missed dinner altogether, marking a choice remark about Irish brothels that made Steve blush to the tips of his ears. 

Tony had just cackled, laying a hand on his shoulder as he passed. An unexpected zing of heat startled along Steve’s spine and that night he’d dreamt about Tony touching him in a very different way entirely. 

A few days after the cabbage rolls, Steve was ready for a new challenge. He’d been working his way up to asking Tony about one of his favourite dishes, prepared to make him something decadent and maybe Italian. 

Daydreams of Tony telling him how delicious his gnocchi turned out, pulling him down for a kiss, danced behind his eyes. Or maybe he’d make him cannoli and Tony would whisper some filthy joke in his ear about the creamy texture, making him flush, hot breath tickling his ear. 

Steve bit back a groan.

It was just him and Tony for breakfast that morning when he finally worked up the nerve to ask. 

“Hey Tony?” 

“Mmfph.” Tony mumbled from inside his coffee cup, two holographic screens projecting up from his phone. He was seemingly reading the morning news, his work emails, and three other things that Steve couldn’t make out backwards all at once.

“What’s your favourite food?”

Tony mumbled something that sounded like ‘cake’, but he doesn’t really seem to be listening. Maybe he hasn’t heard Steve. 

Steve didn’t push it right away, cracking eggs into a pan and frying them up. When his breakfast was ready, he refilled his own mug with coffee, padding over to refill Tony’s as well.

Tony glanced up at him expectantly like a baby bird, opening his mouth and glancing pointedly at the pot. As if Steve would _ever_.

He leaned past Tony to refill his mug, dipping a hairbreadth too far into his space as he went.

“No fun.” Tony grunted.

Steve ignored him and tried again. “So, favourite food?”

“Cake.” 

So he had heard him correctly.

“Okay, but like, really though?”

“What do you mean ‘really though’,” Tony asked absently. “You asked me for my favourite food. I like cake. Any cake really. Chocolate cake, vanilla cake, any of the kinkier flavours that bakers around the world have come up with. Cake.” 

“Right. Cake then.” Steve physically held back his eye roll. “But like, if you had to pick a favourite meal. Something that isn’t dessert or made of pure sugar.”

“Ehh, I’ll eat anything.” Tony said.

“You’ve got to have a favourite? Tony, everyone has a favourite.”

“God, what is with you this morning? Fine, weirdo, Italian I guess. I’m a big pasta person, go figure. Always have been. Mom cooked some amazing Italian when I was a kid.” 

“Thank you.” Steve said shortly, breakfast interrupted by Clint and Natasha ambling out of the elevator and fighting over the remaining dredges of coffee in the carafe. 

“Morning boys.” Natasha put in, sitting down next to Steve with something that looks like pudding but was apparently ‘overnight oats’ that she let sit in the fridge and congeal. 

Clint stole the rest of Steve’s eggs from the pan. “And what’re we discussing?” 

“I’m going to make pasta for dinner tonight.” Steve explained. “It was Tony’s turn to choose. He picked Italian.” 

Tony had gone back to ignoring him, the holographic screen increasing two-fold as some sort of 3-D model had flared to life in front of him. It spun slowly. Tony muttered something to himself under his breath, absently.

“Aside from that being an obvious cliché… what’re we talking here? Linguine? Penne? Rigatoni?” Clint pressed. “Meat sauce? Alfredo? Rose?”

“Tony?” Steve prompted, and Tony offered a mumbled affirmative but didn't really answer. “Tony? What kind of pasta do you want for dinner?”

“Hmm? What? Oh, uh, wagon wheels.” Tony offered distractedly, giving JARVIS a series of instructions that set the model spinning and twisting at double the rate, a rapid sequence of formulae appearing. 

Clint burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, what? Did you just say wagon wheels? How old are you, man?” 

Tony froze, the project immediately abandoned. “What?” 

“You said you wanted wagon wheels for dinner.” Nat offered evenly. Her face was carefully blank but there was an obvious smile in her voice. “I guess when we all think ‘Stark’ and ‘Italian’, wagon wheels are the first thing that comes to mind.”

“I, I – no, that’s not what I said. I don’t want – I don’t eat wagon wheels.” Tony spluttered, and Steve watched the faintest hint of red tinging the base of his neck, curving up around his ears.

“Of course, Tony, we must’ve misheard you.”

“No, we didn’t!” Clint interrupted. “He said wagon wheels. The pretentious little Italian rich boy wants wagon wheels for dinner.” 

You’d think it was the funniest thing that’d ever happened to him with the way Clint cackled until his eyes watered, wiping away the tears that slip free from the corners. Tony just glared and Steve felt immediately awful, really, he did, because this was only ever about making Tony smile.

Preferably at him. And maybe not just smile.

“Fuck you, Barton.” Tony snapped, plucking the tablet off the table and shoving back, chair legs scraping against the floor.

“Tony I–”

“And fuck you too, Rogers.” He added, cutting him off and storming off. 

Steve glowered at Clint. “You just had to be a jerk, didn’t you?”

“Ehh, I like to keep him on his toes. Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch Cap, he’s going to be fine. Just let him cool off for a bit. Make him some fucking wagon wheels.”

“What even are wagon wheels?” Steve muttered, exasperatedly to himself, leaving the assassins to a heated debate over meatballs vs. tortellini vs. alfredo sauce. 

Steve spent the rest of the day worrying over it.

He worried through a few rounds in the ring sparring with Thor, and as he pummeled a punching bag into dust at his feet. JARVIS advised him, though a little judgmentally, he suspected, when Tony left and returned from SI, and he worried through that too. 

This was all going ass-up quick, and he had no idea how to fix it. 

His little love-sick fantasy that tasted like marinara and fresh basil felt like it was going up in smoke. 

“JARVIS?” Steve asked, later that evening as a pot of water boiled, a half-dozen pasta sauce recipes open in front of him. 

“Yes, Captain?”

“How does Tony like to eat his wagon wheels?” 

JARVIS hesitated. “Captain, if you are preparing to prank Sir, I should warn you this is a particularly sensitive topic and I don’t feel it would be appropriate–”

“I’m not trying to prank him.” Steve grumbled miserably. “If anything, I’m trying to do literally the exact opposite.”

“Very well. Sir prefers his wagon wheels boiled with melted butter and parmesan cheese sprinkled on top.”

That… did not sound like Tony.

“Are you sure, JARVIS?” Steve asked dubiously.

“Absolutely, Captain. This particular meal holds something of a sentimental value for Mr. Stark. His childhood butler, Mr. Jarvis, made this meal for him often when he was young.” AI JARVIS explained.

Steve smiled down at the pot of boiling water in front of him. “Oh Tony.”

With none of the usual finesse – it was just noodles in water after all – Steve dumped a healthy portion of wagon wheels into the bubbling pot. When they filled and plumped up, he strained and dressed them with a generous dose of butter and parmesan cheese. 

It didn’t look like anything special. 

It didn’t particularly taste like anything special either. 

Steve took the plate with him, wandering down to the workshop. The door didn’t immediately open, and though he loathed to use his override codes unless absolutely necessary, it felt like the right time. He owed Tony an apology. 

“Kinda busy here, Cap.” Tony snapped from where he was bent over a selection of various materials. Stretchy fabrics for Bruce’s pants, his brain supplied.

“Listen, Tony, I just wanted to say–”

“What is that?” Tony demanded, brows furrowing as he inhaled deeply. He scowled down at the meal in Steve’s hands. “Okay, I’m not sure what your problem is, but this feels a little low even for you, Cap. Seriously, fuck off with that.” Tony waved his arm dismissively in Steve’s general direction. 

“I’m not making fun of you!” Steve exclaimed quickly, watching as Tony slipped further away from him, crossing his arms over his chest dubiously. “I swear. I didn’t even say anything to begin with, it was Clint, but I’m still sorry because I didn’t mean to embarrass you or upset you or piss you off. I was trying to do exactly the opposite, but you know. This is just what happens, I guess.” Stop talking. You’re rambling. Stop fucking talking, Rogers. “I just wanted to make you dinner. That’s all, I swear.” He finished hopelessly.

Tony squinted at him, calculating, as if he was replaying the conversation over in his mind.

“You just wanted to make me dinner?” He asked suspiciously.

“Yes, Tony.” 

“And you made me wagon wheels. With butter and cheese.” 

“Yes.” Steve sighed, closing his eyes and desperately clawing back the embarrassment and humiliation that threatened just below the surface. It was so obvious – he was so obvious – and he could practically feel the shit-eating grin on Tony’s face.

“And why, pray tell, would you do something like that for little ol’ me?” Tony asked, tone light and teasing as he stepped into Steve’s space. 

When he opened his eyes Tony was right there, looking up at him with an air of confidence that didn’t match the mixture of uncertainty and hope in his eyes. It burned through Steve’s belly like a lit match.

“I think you know why.” Steve murmured, eyes on Tony’s mouth.

“I think I know why too. But you’ve come this far. Come on, Cap, just let me hear you say it.” Tony breathed back, a hand twitching at his side. “Wouldn’t want to make… assumptions.”

Would this be better or worse if Tony touched him? God, he might die if Tony didn’t touch him again soon. Right now.

The way Tony was gazing up at him had Steve instantly, achingly hard. 

“Tony, I–” He broke off, feeling his cheeks heat.

“Yes?” 

“You mean – I mean I – darn it, Tony I care about you, okay??” Steve said, just a tough too loud. “You drive me insane. I like you and of course I care about you and I just wanted to – oomfph.” 

The words died in his mouth when Tony launched himself into his arms, throwing them about Steve’s neck and kissing him for all he was worth. It was a damned good first kiss too, with Tony’s lean body fitting into his as if it had belonged there all along. 

Tony kissed with an underlying desperation, as if at any moment Steve was going to pull away and leave him short. As if he had to fit a million kisses into one moment. 

Steve groaned into his mouth, finally getting with the program and palming the curve of Tony’s jaw, tipping his head back to gain a little more control over the kiss. Teasing along the seam of his lips, he relished the way Tony practically purred as he opened to him, letting him lick and taste and take. 

When Tony’s grip slipped down to his hips and yanked, thrusting up against the hollow where Steve’s hip met his groin, his brain effectively powered down. He broke the kiss on a gasp which did nothing to stop Tony’s mouth from where it traded off and started pressing hot, wet kisses along his jaw. The kisses travelled lower still, down his throat, almost to his clavicle. 

“Tony, geez.” Steve breathed, trying to string together any semblance of a thought. It felt pointless with Tony’s hands all over him, exploring and pressing and grabbing in the most delicious way. Steve shivered. 

“I just – really want to thank you – for dinner.” Tony bit out between kisses.

“You haven’t even tried it yet.” Steve replied, lamely. 

Instantly regretting that when Tony pulled back, Steve watched half-dazed as he shoveled a quickly cooling bite into his mouth and grinned.

“It’s perfect.” 

“Oh.” 

Tony’s grin widened. “Did I kiss you stupid?” 

Steve felt himself flush deeper, because yeah. Yeah, he absolutely did. “Why don’t you kiss me again and find out?” 

Tony did and it stretched on forever. 

When they finally separated again, they were breathing hard and there were effectively fewer thoughts - and a significantly less amount of blood - in Steve’s head than the first time. 

“Cheesy.” Steve mumbled, which was instantaneously so much better than any other fantasy he’d had. There was a playful smirk on Tony’s lips as he pressed his forehead into Steve’s shoulder, shaking his head with incredulity. 

“We are going to have so much fun, Steve.” 

“Can I ask one question?” Steve blurted, before he could stop himself. His brain was rebooting only as fast as possible while Tony was still touching him. “Why wagon wheels – no, don’t look at me like that I’m not teasing you – I’m genuinely asking because I’m curious.”

Tony leaned back against the workbench for a minute, shovelling another bite of pasta into his mouth. A wistful look fluttered across his features, as if temporarily he belonged somewhere else. 

“Mom only cooked on special occasions. Usually she had someone on staff who would cook all these fancy, elaborate meals. I hated them half the time, and we never had anything that normal people got to eat. Jarvis – the person Jarvis – used to make me all sorts of kid’s crap when Mom wasn’t around. He’d make grilled cheeses and homemade pizzas and those shitty chicken nuggets from the box.” Tony shrugged, self-deprecation tilting the edge of his lips. “My favourite was always his wagon wheels with butter and cheese.”

Steve blinked. 

Tony blinked back, waiting. Hesitating.

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” Steve murmured after a beat, tugging Tony back for another kiss. 

Tony laughed easily. “I hate fancy people food.” 

“Perfect, I’m never making anything fancy again then. From here on out, everything will be boiled or overcooked and the only seasoning will be salt. Maybe pepper, but only if you’re really good.” Steve winced immediately; the innuendo landing heavily between them. 

“I can be good. For you.” Tony purred in his ear, fingers curling in the back of his hair to drag him down again. 

For half a second, Steve thought he might never need food again. Not if this was the alternative. 

All his thoughts were chased away when Tony did something absolutely sinful with his tongue. From that point on there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that Tony would show him exactly just how good he could be.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay well, and find yourself a partner who is willing to cook for you like Steve.


End file.
